For Whom The Bell Tolls
by Anubis81
Summary: The detectives react to the death of one of their own.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The characters of Law & Order: SVU belong to Dick Wolfe, etc. They are not mine. I am only playing with them for a short while and promise to put them back where I found them.

  


I walk up to the counter and set my coffee down. Setting a bill alongside, I watch the clerk watching me. Something's in her eyes, something familiar but I can't place it. I shake my head and wait for her to ring up my purchase. She stares at me like she's never seen a man before. I open my mouth to say something, anything to get her to ring up my coffee so I can leave. I watch her eyes dart to the side quickly before returning to stare at me. "Will there be anything else, sire?"

Fear, I hear it in her voice. How could I not? After nearly all these years on the job, the one emotion that I was the most intimate with from the start, was fear. I glance to the side and I see them lurking in the shadows. "Pack of Camels." I said trying to buy some more time to assess the situation. Calmly I glance out the window at my partner for the moment, he's busy finishing pumping the gas and completely oblivious. 

I absently watch her ring up the purchases, "don't forget the gas on number four." She nodded, too nervous to say anything. 

"Twenty-three fifty-two cents, sir." 

I nodded and reached for my wallet, opening it I stared down at the cash inside. "Damn, I'll be right back." I say turning to the doors, "my brother'll have the money." As I walked out I watched as the other man looked up.

"Hey, what's wrong? I'm not done pumping here."

"Robbery in progress, call it in. Two suspects, maybe more." I watched surprised brown eyes stare at me, unmoving. "Damn it, do it." I watch him regain his composure and nearly dive for the radio. "Could you possibly be more obvious?" 

This kid was going to be the death of me yet.


	2. ONE

Rain drizzled onto my windshield from the gray sky above. Turning down onto the all familiar street, I couldn't help but think of the last time I was here. I shudder slightly as the memories flood my mind. Kathy looks at me and I'm touched by the concerned look brimming in her eyes. She squeezes my hand gently as the years break free and fall. I smile weakly, silently thanking her for all the love and support she's given me over the years spanning our life together.

I glance in the rearview mirror to see those sitting behind. Silently I give thanks to God for each and everyone of my children. I can imagine, nor do I wish to, to find out suddenly that you've outlived your child. But his parents do, unfortunately they know. I know I'm being selfish, but in my line of work I am all to often the harbinger of bad news. The only difference here is, this time _I_ was on the receiving end.

We'd been working non-stop for the last seven days straight to catch a serial rape-murderer with the appetite for eight year old boys. Kathy and the kids had left a 'care package' with the Olivia, that I was grateful included several clean shirts. Coming back down from the upstairs bunkhouse, I was greeted by a puffy, red-eyed partner and two very pale faced colleagues. At first I'd thought that something had happened to my family, to Kathy and the kids. I was wrong, I was so wrong.

Olivia looked at me with tears streaming down her face and said, "he's dead." All I could do was stare numbly at her and think 'she couldn't possibly mean..........?"

  
  



	3. TWO

Droplets of rain splashed against the windshield as I made my way to the memorial service across town. It seems some how appropriate that it should rain today, today of all days. Once or twice I had to stop so that I could wipe the tears away blurry my vision. I knew he'd be unhappy to see me crying, grieving for him. I was determined to do justice to his memory and be dried eyed throughout the service. It was the very least I could do for him, considering his family was insistent that they bear the responsibility of his burial. No wonder he never talked about them except in passing. But he was a very private man, guarded on more subjects then others. I always thought that their would be time to get past those walls he'd built up around him, but that time won't come after all. Being there was the only thing that I could do for my friend.

As I turned onto the road, I thought of my mother. True I had accepted the inevitable a long time before it actually happened, but I grieved for her. But it wasn't like this, no nothing like this. Here I am, flood gates busted wide open and free as my heart aches with his loss. I never before realized the impact he'd made on me every day when we saw the worst in mankind. Or how much I enjoyed what time we did have together. We were never lovers, just friends. Still I can't remember a time he wasn't there for me and expecting nothing in return. No one else can tell me any different, I won't let them.

I was just finishing an interview, a promising lead if I ever heard one and looking foward to the much needed nap, when the captain told me. I stood there not really listening, not hearing anything he had just said. I was numb, it seemed to me that it was happening to someone else and not me. I couldn't believe it, it seemed so unreal to me at the time. But then again, how could I not?

Every day we woke with the knowledge that today's the day, the day my number could be called. At the end of the day we'd celebrate, not because one more bad guy was off the street, but because we'd survived one more day of the game that would continue on tomorrow. We fall to sleep knowing that tomorrow a bullet may find us and the game would go on, only with new players at the table. No matter what we thought about ourselves, we _never_ considered we'd lose any one of us. That was never a clear, true reality. It should have been.

Dear God, it should have been.

I don't really remember much after he had said, "Olivia, you had better sit down." Then the tears were streaming down my face as reality slowly began to sink in. I wanted so desperately to believe that this was nothing more then a cruel joke, but then again any lie would have been better then the truth.

  
  



	4. THREE

Its so peaceful here, so beautiful. 

The quiet wind winding gently through the trees, one would almost believe that they were no longer in New York. I bet it's even more beautiful in the fall with the leaves everywhere. Some how even the rain brings an intimate touch to the place. It's almost like a little piece of heaven here, stolen for us here on Earth to savor. 

I park just outside the building and listen to the rain fall against the car. I watch as people, dressed in black, quickly make their way towards the building as they huddled beneath their umbrellas. I can hear his voice in my ear as clear as if he where sitting next to me. I lean back and smile as his voice reaches through the fabric of time itself, some how it lessens the pain his absence has made. I'd like to say that he was a thorn, a pain I'm happy to be rid of. But it would be a lie. I don't know a single person who was ever happy to lose a man on the job. I was honored to have worked with the man, proud to have called him my friend and confidante. But he was also a cop, a damn good cop too.

There were days I admit that the urge to strangle him was almost overpowering, but they were few and far between. Okay, not that far or that few, but still...With all his quirks, there was never anyone else on the job that I'd want covering my back. He was a damn good cop. An irreplaceable cop. Hell, he was practically family. 

The brass has already sent down his replacement, some how though it doesn't feel right to have another person, an 'outsider' making themselves home in his desk. I try not to punish her, its not her fault he's gone and they sent her to fill his shoes. Not that anyone could anyways.

I answered the phone that day thinking maybe this could be the one, the one that breaks this case. The case was going colder faster molasses in January. I was wrong, dead wrong. 

The man said he was a homicide detective working out of Robbery in Brooklyn and that there had been a botched robbery at a convenience store. For a moment I wondered why he was telling me this, after all Manhattan is Manhattan and Brooklyn is Brooklyn. Then he told me. A Manhattan detective had walked into the middle of a keg waiting to explode. He told me that one perp went down fast, instantly, while the other fought back. They found the second perp dead in the alley behind the store, nasty gut wound from a nine milliammeter. I smirked, that was a standard issued firearm. But that still didn't tell me which detective was hit, I had two of them over there taking witness statements. 

Grunt work.

He told me then. A tear slipped from my eye as I managed a croaked "thank you." I stared at the wall, not really seeing it as I numbly hung up the phone and felt a lump swell in my throat at the news. All thoughts and hopes for a warm lead vanished as the news slowly sank into my sleep deprived brain.

By the time that the bus finally managed to get there, it was already too late. My friend, one of my top four, had taken three bullets and he still managed to find it in him to do his job. I will always believe that he paid too high a price for justice. It took me a while to compose myself enough to go out into the squad room and break the news to the others. I didn't want to think of his partner's reaction, I couldn't imagine it just then. 

Moving from behind my desk and out into the bullpen, I was on complete autopilot. After all, this was one of the worst burdens of command, some days I still think of packing it all in. But like my friend, I'm not one to runaway when things get too tough. I lingered in the doorway of my office, watching him work. As far as I could tell, he didn't seem to have a care in the world. Guilt swarmed inside me, squeezing my heart as I knew that in a few moments his heart would break with the news. 

Soon everyone would know that the minstrel boy had gone......


	5. FOUR

I hate funerals. 

The feelings of loss hanging over your heart like an executioner's axe. The feelings of guilt gnawing away at your insides, threatening to consume everything. The solemn faces gathered together, crowding the pews with strangers. Everyone's filled to the brim with grief and morbid thoughts of their own mortality. Not to mention all the religious propaganda being spewed at you everywhere you turn.

Damn, he must've rubbed off on me some.

Not even the satisfaction of solving the case had eased the pain of his absence, ironic what fate derives pleasure from. The perpetrator was shot by a stray bullet in the convenience store, shot by a robber's bullet in the leg. It was during the interviewing later at the hospital that the perp had a sudden attack of conscience and confessed. I'd like to believe that seeing the mass of blue uniforms spooked him into spilling his dirty little secret to those Robbery detectives, but maybe it was guilt. Guilt is a funny thing, you know. It also has to be one of the most powerful of human emotions, I know that better then anyone.

My new partner's good, but she's not him. I'm sure she's a good cop and a good person, but she's not him. Maybe everyone's right and I'm too set in my ways, but that can be a good thing. I can't help but think that if I had insisted, put my foot down on accompanying him to interviewing the witness up in Brooklyn, that he'd be alive today. Heung had encouraged us to 'talk about our feelings,' which was departmental code for 'mandatory head shrinking.' 

To be honest I don't recognize half of the people here, they must be from his old unit. Now that's devotion, loyalty, friendship. Call it what you will, but that man was loved. He loved us back, though he could never truly find the words to say it. We knew though, we knew. I smile slightly as I listen to the voices behind me. They had to be from his old unit, the story they were telling had to be pre-SVU. As they laugh quietly at the tale of my partner knocking a pair of perps' heads together, I can almost picture my partner. I chance a glance at Elliot and Olivia, and notice that they're trying not to laugh out loud. The captain's own body is shaking from the contained laughter as tears stream down his rosy cheeks. Whether they are tears of sorrow or of laughter, I don't know. 

God, it feels good to laugh.

Sitting here, waiting for the memorial service to conclude, I can't help but think that I never had the chance to say "goodbye." That he won't be there to snuggle up with after a long, arduous case or hear him call my name in bed. His voice will never say "I love you, you know" again. All I could think of when the captain broke the news to me was "my partner's gone." 

In more ways then one, he was my partner. Its been two days and .......its official, I'm cursed and my partner's gone.

  



	6. FIVE

Four motorcycles, their turning signals blinking, led the motorcade down the dirty Manhattan streets. Winding its way through the city's labyrinth of streets, past the dirty shop windows and the overcrowded sidewalks until it reached the wrought iron gates of it's destination. Blue and red lights flashed across the landscape as the caretaker unlocked the heavy double gates. A low moan grounded out as the weather beaten man pried the gates apart. A sharp creak echoed into the depressing day as the gates swung slowly back against their posts, opening the way for the funeral procession into the city of the dead. 

The stream of seemingly endless limousines and squad cars trickled along the narrow lanes, past rows of tombstones rising out from the immaculately manicured lawns. Some had small flags stuck in the ground nest to them or flowers placed in the in-ground vase. Each tombstone blended together until they seemingly merged, essentially becoming one. As their limousine crawled past, Olivia's eyes stayed rooted to the same spot. Tears fell freely down her cheeks as she watched the concrete angel slip from view.

Manhattan's own Precious Doe was what he'd called her from the start. The one case he'd wanted more then anything to solve. A sadistic rape-murder that had been casually dropped on his desk one day years before. A homeless man had called it after he'd dug halfway through a Denny's dumpster looking for his breakfast. The medical examiner had been able to determine she'd been repeatedly raped postmortem. When they moved her, that's when they found it. Diamond shaped patches of flesh had been cut away on her back side. Later, she was able to add that the child's heart and liver where missing, surgically removed. It was a couple of days later, that they were informed that they weren't the only organs the perp had taken. The child's brain was missing also.

They had watched as he worked the case with a fever, as if she had been born of his own flesh and blood. How many nights had they gone home to their apartments while he worked late into the night on her case or came into the squad room to find him there already working on the same case, his clothes rumpled, dirty from sleeping in them and a hint of a stubble growing on usually groomed, hairless face? Clear signs that what little sleep he managed to get the night before had been upstairs in the bunkhouse.

After months of working endlessly, being constantly side tracked with a stream of endless fresh cases and a little thing people on the job like to call 'sleep,'he'd finally cracked the case and arrested the perpetrator. They'd watched him go from emotional and physical 'not even running on fumes' exhaustion back to the man that they all knew and loved as the handcuffs locked with a soft, soothing 'click.' That night he was the first one to call it a day and go home for a well-earned good night's sleep and in the morning, he was the last to arrive.

Later he had told them that it still bothered him that they still didn't even know her name and that she didn't deserve a pauper's grave either. A little advice from his brother later and Manhattan's Precious Doe was well on her way to a proper funeral. Most of the cops in Manhattan and surrounding districts attended the funeral services for the little girl no one seemed to have wanted or loved in life, but everyone loved and mourned now in death. The public display of emotions gave physical form to the detective's own feelings. It was the first and last time they ever seen him cry.

The motorcade came to a stop near the freshly dug grave beneath the pale green tent a few feet away. The Manhattan's Officers' Pipers and Drummers slowly began to play the old traditionally melody Coming Home. The sound of the bagpipes lifted into the gray heavens and into the hearts of the mourners' assembling on the lawn. The men and women assigned to Manhattan's Special Victims Unit carried the plain oak casket from the hearse and up the low hill to the waiting grave. 

Elliot Stabler helped his partner out of the limousine before walking alongside their somber captain, up to the simple casket now draped in the flags of his homelands. Taking their seats, Elliot chanced a glanced at the grieving detective to his partner's right. Deep, dark rings wound under his eyes testifying to the lack of sleep. Elliot knew that the man hadn't slept since they'd got the call, he'd spent the last two days watching over the remains of his partner. 

After everyone had taken their seats, Cragen walked to the other side of the casket and cleared his throat. "This is one of the worst duties that command thrusts upon a person's shoulders. To stand here, before all of you and seeing the absence made by the loss of one of our own. To stand here and try to summerize, what took a lifetime to achieve, the life of our fallen. 

"This was the worst way possible to have lost a member of our family, killed on the job. We all had our reasons for getting into this, but we all have one in common. The desire to protect the innocents, the victims, and make our small corner of the world just a little bit safer knowing that there's one less perp out on the streets." As he spoke, Cragen glanced at the faces of the mourners. Looking down at the coffin, "good bye my friend." Cragen whispered before taking his seat alongside Elliot..

A chorus of sniffles accompanied Olivia as she took Cragen's place beside the casket. Gently laying a white rose bud on the touching flag seams an unshed tear fell down her cheeks as a man's face haunted the empty air before her. "This man was a damn good cop, sympathetic to the victims and meaner then pissed snake with the perps. This man was my colleague, a brother that I never had. I always thought that there would be a enough time to tell him that I-I-I......" Her voice cracked with emotion as she strained to finish the sentence, a second tear fell.

Wiping the tear away, "sorry." Olivia sobbed into her handkerchief, "I promised myself earlier that I wouldn't do this." Her voice strained, choking with emotion and was barely audible through the bunched material in front of her mouth. Elliot quickly rose from his seat and started towards his partner. Olivia raised her free hand, "its okay. I want, I NEED, to finish this." Elliot nodded his head and returned to his chair, Kathy squeezed his hand.

Composing herself, "this man lying here was my friend. He would make me smile and laugh no matter what day I was having, what I was feeling, or whatever else was going on. He gave me an ear when I needed to talk, a shoulder when I needed to cry and a hand to help me back on my feet when I got knocked down. I never told him how much I loved him for just being him. I'm sorry," Olivia said kissing the soft material of the flag, her finger tracing the lone star. Sniffling and forcing back more tears brimming in her eyes, Olivia retreated to the hollow comfort of her chair.

Cragen rubbed soothing circles on Olivia's shoulder as Elliot moved to the casket. Clearing his throat, "as cops we accept the day to day risks that come with the job and we force our families to accept it on our behalf. Every day, we risks the hazards that are as intimate to us as a lover's touch and oblivious as the shifting of the clouds is to everyone else. Everything that we do out there on the street is for the safety of ourselves, our families and the strangers God-willing we'll never met. But in the end, after everything is said and done, its worth it. To see a child who lives day to day with the reality and knowledge that their mother or father could suddenly, in a fit of drunken or drug induced rage, literally beat them to death for the simple crime of breathing. To see a child no more older then four years of age who has NO soul and to be that person to see the return of the faintest spark of hope in that child's eyes. As a cop myself, I can honestly tell you the euphoria from that is greatest feeling in the world. The risks that go hand in hand with the job are easily under weighed when they are up against those faint sparks."

A tear trickled down his cheek, "as a wise man once said and I believe it better sums this man up better then any fancy speech could. 'I shalt look upon his kind again, for here lies a giant amongst men.'" Elliot's hand trailed over the casket lightly as he made his way back to his seat. Elliot glanced at he last detective to speak and gave him a supportive nod before seating back down next to his wife.

The detective slowly approached his partner's casket. He glanced down at the simple casket and quietly wept. Sniffling, he wiped away the tears running down his face. "I'm sorry. I thought that I could do this. I thought that I was strong enough, but I can't." As fresh tears poured down his face, leaving wet and salty trails in their wake, he fled back to his seat amongst the whispered words of comfort coming from total strangers brought together by the man lying before them all. 

His body shook almost violently with his sobs, he buried his face in his hands. Olivia rubbed his back as she whispered something in his ear. He nodded mutely before suddenly attaching himself to her as though she were a proverbial life-line between the world of the living and that of the unknown. She rubbed his back as they rocked back and forth. Tears streaked from her swollen red eyes and down her face as a thin black man spoke fondly of the deceased. The surviving members of the Special Victims Unit huddled together, drowning out the man's words as they lost themselves in their grief.

One by one, former colleagues, old friends, family and old flames each took turn, standing up and speaking about the man that they had all lost. Fondest memories were recalled, amusing stories were retold, and tales of lost love were shared as the sun above the dreary world made its rounds. Sad smiles crossed the mourners' faces as soft ripples of laughter lightened their shared misery. 

The last mourner stood behind the simple casket and faced the crowd as the sun began to sink from its celestial perch. "We had our differences he and I. When we would talk, it would usually end in a fight. Petty stuff really, neither of us really accepted the other truly. I never fully accepted the choices he made in his personal life and accepted the job so much. And he did love his job. He spoke quite often, usually fondly of everyone of you he'd worked with over the years. How often he would speak of things, say things that, knowing him as well as I do, he'd never said to you directly."

He wiped his eyes, eyes that were almost eerily familiar. "Through it all, I always thought that there would be plenty of time. Time to tell him how much I loved him, time to tell make amends and put the past once and for all behind us. I should've known though that he could've been taken from us at any time, that he knew no price too high when it came to choosing between living and being a cop. The man laying here was one of the most dedicated members of the Brotherhood of the Badge that I ever knew. Not that you need me to tell you that, do you."

The begrieved mourners chuckled lightly, "sorry, he always told me that I had a morbid sense of humor. Guess even in death he's right, again." He smiled, earning a few more chuckles. Looking down at the casket, "I'm sorry." He whispered softly as a tear fell down his cheek. His legs gave way and he collapsed on the ground, resting his head on the casket's side.


	7. EPILOGUE

  


After everyone had settled back in, the chief of detectives stood up. "Every day, in every city around the world, the worst of human nature is exposed to our children. A cop isn't just your father, your mother, your brother, or your sister; they are not just your husband, your wife, your son or your daughter. A cop is a faceless, nameless entity that the citizens of any city call when in need. In effect, they are our saviors, the incarnations of supermen and women. Every cop, from the green rookie on his first ride along to the most seasoned detective working the impossible case, wakes each morning to face a job that'll never end.

"Every day we put ourselves at risk to protect the innocent and to protect our brothers and sisters in uniform. Each and everyone of us desire the luxury of dying at a ripe old age, surrounded by those that we love and those who love us. Unfortunately that isn't always the case. The man lying before us died doing a job that he both loved and hated.

"It's said that it takes a special breed of cop to work the cases that can be found in the Special Victims Unit case files. Many detectives and beat cops, seasoned by personal experience on the job, have left the force or just the squad due to the nature of their victims. But this man here, willingly, was able to shoulder the burden and duty required of him by the very nature of the perpetrators committing the most heinous crimes human nature could conceive of"

The chief looked from the casket and faced the assembled teary-eyed mourners. "Here lies the earthly remains of a true hero, one none here shall soon forget. May he forever be with us in spirit and in our dreams." As the chief spoke, the crowd absentmindedly nodded their heads. "Manhattan, New York, Special Victims Unit code one-four-three; signifies the loss of life in the-line-of-duty. Today, we ring out that code for Detective ........" Loud sobs rippled through the mourners as the deceased name was spoken aloud the first time in two days. 

  
  
  
  


The wind played through her hair as she stared at the casket six feet beneath the ground. "Did you know him well?"

His soft voice startled her from her thoughts. "Yes, he was my best friend. You know, he never treated me like I was a lowly beat cop or anything. I was always an equal in his eyes, few detectives treat you like that." Sniffling, "I wasn't some girl encroaching on the boys' territory. I was one of the boys." She smiled warmly at him, "how did you know him?"

He wanted to say that he was the widowed lover, he wanted to. Instead, "I was his partner."

"Funny, you're a lot cuter then he'd said you were." She said with a sly smile, "he'd been so happy these couple of years with you." He stared at her speechless, unable to form a single thought. Turning to the grave, she let the white rose bud fall from her hands. "Goodbye Munchkin."

Their arms linked together on common ground, the pair slowly walked away from the grave. Their voices mingled together as stories were shared and the grave diggers sighed as they began their labor; filling the grave.

FINI 


End file.
